Friends In Odd Places
by grannysknitting
Summary: A little fic for Halloween. John has apparently made some unusual friends in his travels - this one has popped up just in the nick of time it appears... Bad news for breathing, if your name begins with M.


**Friends in Odd Places – Sherlock BBC fic**

Stand-alone, Episode 3 spoilers, Crossover with Buyy/Angel

Written: October 31st, 21:06

Current Mood: silly

Current Music: spooky

A/N - Halloween fic, set post episode three, assuming that everyone lived and Moriarty came back for another go...

0o0o0

Sherlock jolted awake, adrenaline spurred by his last memory urging him to move, to _get away_...

"Easy," the voice was unfamiliar, though the accent originated in Liverpool, "You'll hurt yourself, and that just won't do."

Eyes snapping open, Sherlock took in his surroundings in a glance, cataloging and filing them away for later use. They were in an abandoned tube station, tied hand and foot and propped against a wall thick with dust. John was to his right, still unconscious due to the drugs that Moriarty's men had sprayed them with...

Moriarty was to his left, also tied and unconscious, though this was due to being belted over the head with something. Their captor was standing in front of them, blonde, black leather, thin, very pale, rings on his hand. Unknown to Sherlock, though he had a very hazy memory of seeing the man as he succumbed to the gas.

"So, you're Sherlock Holmes," the blonde drawled, "I've been reading about you in John's blog. Got to say you're not at all what I was expecting... but then, you people so rarely are..."

If Sherlock had been the type to weep and wail and bemoan his fate, then he'd have muttered something along the lines of 'not another homicidal psychopath with a fixation on me' in a despairing tone. As it was he gritted his teeth and produced his best glare.

"Oh here it comes, the threat... so obvious... so _boring_... honestly, you people and your sense of self importance..." the blonde rolled his eyes, "John seems to see something in you, though. Maybe you'll be more interesting when he's awake. I only interfered in what was obviously your murder because John was there... you know if you don't take better care of him, I'll just have to take him away."

"Over my dead body," Sherlock growled, somewhat shocked that it was _John_ the lunatic had fixated on. Though, really, who could blame him? John Watson was the only person that Sherlock had found that seemed perfectly mundane on the surface and was anything but that in reality. John fascinated Sherlock in a way that no one else ever had - he cared, he accepted Sherlock for who he was and he was not as stupid as people thought, despite his taste in jumpers.

"That's sort of the point, dear... you _will_ be dead, as upsetting to John as that would be..."

"Spike?" the voice from Sherlock's right was a welcome one, disoriented though it was, "'s that you?"

"Rise and shine, John, time for all good mortals to be awake!" the now named 'Spike' cheered, coming to crouch down beside John and put a hand on his neck. Sherlock was relieved to see his friend wake unharmed, though a little unnerved that he knew their captor and was _smiling at him?_

"I wondered where you'd got to. I thought you were heading back to LA to bother that... friend of yours?" from John's tone you'd have thought they were sitting in the lounge at Baker Street with tea and biscuits. Sherlock restrained himself from huffing impatiently, the impulse forgotten when he realised that John wasn't bound.

"I'm on a holiday - visiting the auld sod, as it were," Spike got back up, pulling John with him and steadying the smaller man with deceptive strength when he swayed, "Thought I'd pop in and see you while I was here."

"That's... very kind of you," John took a breath and focused on Sherlock. He gave Spike an admonitory tut and bent to undo his friends ropes, "You ok, Sherlock?"

"Yes, thank you," Sherlock replied mechanically, "Why did he refer to you as mortal?"

"Because he _is_ mortal, you idiot," Spike retorted before John could speak, "Now we see the root of the problem. You've been endangering his life willy nilly because of some delusion of immortality on your part?"

"Spike," John's voice got that tone that even Anderson cringed at, imbecile that he was, "Sherlock knows full well that I'm mortal."

He did too. Those long weeks waiting for John to recover post-pool incident had proven to Sherlock more than once that his friend was all too mortal and vulnerable to pain. He was a lot more careful with John now, though that was hard to do when the man himself demanded full disclosure on their cases and the dangers attached to same.

"Humph," was Spike's irritable response as Sherlock made it to his feet, "Your blog says otherwise."

"Since when have you been able to use a computer?" John's voice took on that fond teasing tone that he liked to use, the one that made Sherlock want to smile when it was aimed at him.

"You're never to old to learn a new skill, my boy," Spike sniffed loftily, "So, tell me what I've walked into here. It looked very much as if this very well dressed bloke here was kidnapping you two when I arrived."

"Just so," Moriarty muffled, finally raising his head, "I have unfinished business with Sherlock and his pet...urk!"

"You'll keep a civil tongue in your head or I'll rip it out," the low voice was enough to freeze Sherlock's blood as Spike moved so quickly it was almost inhuman to lift Moriarty by the throat, "Speak only when I give you permission."

Moriarty looked as though he was about to defy that edict, but the fingers around his throat tightened slightly, causing his face to change colour as his blood and oxygen supply was cut off. John had a restraining hand on Sherlock's arm, squeezing it gently to get the consulting detective to stay still.

"What happened to the men with him?" John asked quietly, something that Sherlock also wanted to know but would have preferred that the question wait until Spike calmed down.

"They're dead," Spike tossed the answer out casually, "They tried to stop me interfering, which is never a good idea. I don't like it when someone tells me what to do."

"I've noticed," John's tone could have dried out a desert, "You're killing him."

"He was kidnapping you," Spike sounded almost reasonable, "This _is_ that master criminal you wrote about, right? The mad bomber, the one who killed that teenager all those years ago? The one responsible for almost blowing you up. The one that ordered you shot."

"Yes, this is Moriarty," John nodded, squeezing Sherlock's arm again to keep him silent. Spike turned and looked at the two of them, the cold, maniacal expression he'd been regarding Moriarty with warming as he took in the sight of Sherlock and John together. Sherlock leaned closer to John, grateful for the warmth of his friend in that chilling tunnel. John moved closer in response, leaning into him and slipping his hand down his arm to twine his fingers with Sherlock's in a comforting gesture. Spike's eyes widened and narrowed as Moriarty twitched in his tightening grip.

"John Watson, as I live and breathe, have you gotten yourself _married?" _the words were incredulous and teasing and full of an odd humour that frightened Sherlock more than the cold tone had moments before. John didn't seem to notice it, or if he did he wasn't disturbed by it at all.

"Yes, I suppose you could say I have," the warm look he bestowed on Sherlock was so incongruous to their situation it made his head spin, "Sherlock has converted to the Mormon's for me."

"Bloody hell! That deserves a drink!" Spike crowed, "You never had a stag do, did you? You'd have mentioned it on the blog... !" Spike laughed as Moriarty gave a final twitch and then stilled forever, "We're definitely going out... you can leave the little woman at home and come out for a proper celebration, right? He won't mind?"

"Not at all," Sherlock breathed, looking down at John who nodded encouragement, "I have a few things to see to at the flat."

"Excellent! It will be like old times, John, two army buddies going out for a laugh!" Spike crowed, "I promise he'll be back before dawn, Sherlock."

"Thank you," he could be polite when he wanted to, and it seemed the moment to practice his manners as the blonde led the way to the surface, leaving Moriarty's body behind.

There was something distinctly unreal to the whole situation. Moriarty - the worlds only consulting criminal - lay dead in a disused train station, strangled by a man who called Sherlock's greatest treasure 'mortal' and killed in his name. Now they were on their way to street level, where John would leave Sherlock to return to the sanity that was Baker Street while he went out on a belated 'stag night' with the killer.

Perhaps Sherlock was still dreaming. Perhaps he would wake to find Moriarty gloating over them and threatening John's life once more...

He hoped not.

END

Disclaimer - characters and setting as depicted in the Sherlock BBC series/Buffy the Vampire Slayer/ Angel series are not mine. No money is being made. Plot is mine.


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